


Madame Bovary: Chapter Eight and a Half, or: I Don't Like Gustave Flaubert's Guts

by CawAreYouDoin



Category: Jane Eyre - Charlotte Brontë, Madame Bovary - Gustave Flaubert
Genre: Gen, Help, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Not Beta Read, Personal Growth, no-one will read this probably, this was a school assignment that went overboard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:40:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23071090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CawAreYouDoin/pseuds/CawAreYouDoin
Summary: Emma Bovary, when her life comes crashing down and she is about to end it, quite literally stumbles upon a friendly, well-mannered lady, who just came back to France after many years, to find a proper place for a honeymoon. Maybe her life doesn't have to end so tragically...
Relationships: Emma Bovary & Adéle Varens
Comments: 4
Kudos: 3





	Madame Bovary: Chapter Eight and a Half, or: I Don't Like Gustave Flaubert's Guts

Emma, her last hope of aid from any soul forlorn, ran out of Rodolph's house, into the street, almost entirely covered with fresh snow.   
Night was falling, crows were flying about.   
Now her situation, like an abyss, rose up before her. She was panting as if her heart would burst. Then in an ecstasy of heroism, that made her almost joyous, she ran down the hill, crossed the cow-plank, the foot-path, the alley, the market, and had almost reached the chemist's shop, before a carriage, invisible to her trough the blizzard and her feverish resolve, left her laying in the dirty, melting snow, mixed with all that lay in the street. Why it was going so fast, Emma did not wonder. She only focused on the pain that rang trough her, so near her heart, and thought, half- bitterly, and with half relief, „Ah, so I am going to die as I lived - in the mud and without my own choice in the matter”.   
Her thought was wishful, though, as her body showed no signs of stopping its painful internal movements. She lay there nonetheless, hoping despite hope, that it would eventually give up, and absolve her of taking action.   
The carriage that hit her came back, this time slower. Emma looked at dirty hooves of the horses, as two people got out, and ran to her side. Her first thought was, for some reason, that it would be Léon with his new mistress, but even in her dazzled state, she realized this was impossible. Instead, over her hovered a woman and a man of her age, each beautiful in their own right, dressed in foreign, but fancy clothes. „Everything I could have had”, she mused longingly, „everything I wanted”. The man said something in English, and the woman replied, looking inordinately worried. She put a hand on Emma's dirty shoulder, gently shaking it, and in perfect French, asked:  
„Madame, are you quite alright?”   
The man, annoyed, in English, said something that probably equated to „look at her, she is obviously not alright!”. The exchange went on for a few more minutes, culminating in the woman calling for the coachman. He, and the handsome man brought Emma, groaning, into the carriage, laying her delicately on the fine seat, despite the filth in her clothes. The couple sat together on the seat opposite of her, holding hands. „Another thing that I could never have”, she thought, finally letting herself drift into unconciousness. 

***

She awoke, not certain of her surroundings. She was laid in a pristine bed, the dirty clothes gone, in exchange for a silk nightgown. As she tried to sit up, raising on her elbows, the woman from the carriage came into the room, carrying a platter with a water glass. She gasped, and shouted trough the door to bring the doctor, because the „strange madame” was awake. Emma, terrified at the prospect of meeting her husband, cried out like a wounded animal, and when the woman came closer to put the glass on a nightstand, she gripped her hand, drawing her closer, and begged for her not to tell mr Bovary where she is, to not let him see her in this state. The woman tried to calm her, speaking loudly and clearly.   
„Madame, please, everything is alright, there is nothing to worry about. You are safe. Nothing is wrong.”   
This only distressed Emma more, as she started wailing and gripping at her chest.   
„No, no, everything is wrong, everything is lost! I am done for, this is a cry of a dead woman! Death is the only way for me now, I have dug my own grave with my debt, and it will bury me alive, together with my family. Please, end my suffering, end it!”  
She was now gripping the woman's clothes tighter, intensely staring, looking for pity in her eyes. She found only concern, and profound, deep, and calm sadness.  
„Madame, all shall be fine, no need to be dramatic. My name is Adéle Varens, and you are in the house me and my fiancé are lenting here. You ran into our carriage, poor thing, so we took you in. Mr doctor says, that you may have broken a rib, but nothing else, thank God. You need to rest, madame, you need to rest.”   
As she spoke, Adéle gently but firmly put Emma's hands back on the soft sheets. She took the cup of water, and, sitting her up as to not let her choke, she made her drink it with small sips. A moment later, the man who accompanied mademoiselle Varens in the carriage came in, saying something from which Emma only recognized the word „doctor”. Resigned, she sunk into the bed, all passion and desperation drained from her body.   
When the doctor finally came in, he was not who she was expecting. A man of great posture and frightening look strode into the room, carrying a bag with medical equipment. His eyes were lit like cold, blue fires, and his hands were firm and steady when he examined her. Emma felt his gaze pierce trough her, and she vaguely remembered Charles describing such a man, a renowed and respected medic from a nearby town.   
„How is she feeling” , he directed a question to ms Varens. She seemed to not appreciate the attention.   
„She just woke up. She was very distressed a minute ago, but who wouldn't be?”  
„What is her name?”  
„I think she is perfectly capable of telling you herself, monsieur.”, ms Varens replied.  
Emma realized this was the lady's way of giving her a choice. She stuttered, pretending to struggle with her memory.   
„I... I am almost certain that my name is Emma? Oh, everything is so foggy, I can't remember. What happened to me, doctor?”  
The man scratched his graying short beard.   
„Hmm, retrograde amnesia, probably temporary, may be caused by a brain damage, although I found no injuries on her head... Other than that, and the broken left rib, I would say she's fine. You need to take care of her, and as soon as she regains her memory, contact her relatives. I would ask in the nearby towns, especially Yonville. She mustn't move excessively for a month or two, avoid bending over, and maybe sleep in a more vertical position. If she complains about pain, give her a small dose of morphine, but not more than once a day.”  
„Thank you doctor. My fiancé will cover the payment”, ms Varens exclaimed, and to her partner she said in French, „Francis, please go with the doctor”. Apparently he understood at least something of the language.   
When the two men left the room, Emma breathed deeply with relief, although her chest hurt.   
„Thank you, mademoiselle Varens. Thank you.”  
The woman smiled with understanding.   
„No trouble. Now rest, madame. And, for the future, you can just call me Adéle.” She smiled, and, letting herself out of the room, she added „Call for me whenever you need something”.  
Emma Bovary, exhausted with the troubles of the day, hurt, beaten, and resigned, allowed herself to relax for a moment, and pretend that everything was fine and safe, that she was happy. In her chest bloomed the same feeling, that she felt when she got ill in the convent, and sister Dorothea sat beside her bed every night, and at times even sang a familiar lulaby. Adéle might have been the same age as Emma, or even younger, but this was the second time in her life, that she felt something akin to true motherly love.

***

The next morning, she awoke to Adéle bringing her a breakfast. This was quite unexpected, and she asked if the woman didn't have a maid or another servant. In return, the woman laughed, and replied:  
„Oh, I do, of course! She's just English, and knows even less French than Francis. Therefore, I concluded that I should be the one to bring you food, and to ask you about how you are feeling! And, well, I wanted to inquire about a few other things, if you don't mind.”  
Baffled and confused, Emma nodded. She ate the breakfast in silence, in part because she wanted to postpone the talk, and in part because it was one of the best dishes she has eaten in years. When she finished, Adéle smiled at her and said „So your name is Emma, right? I know you lied to the doctor. Don't worry, I won't tell him. What trouble have you gotten yourself into? Excuse my curiosity.”  
Emma considered her answer for a minute.  
„My name is Emma Bovary. My husband is Charles Bovary, he is the doctor in Yonville, not quite as famous, I'm afraid. We have been married for almost fifteen years, we have a daughter, Bertha. I have always dreamed of a beautiful life with a passionate love, but alas, the tides turned a different way. You see, when we came to Yonville...”  
And Emma, for so many years living in a web of lies, finally untangled it, and opened up to a woman she knew barely for a day and a half. She was surprised at how easy it was to continue, once she began. 

***

Adéle, once the story was finished, sat in silence, with wide eyes, visibly fascinated by it. She finally spoke, dissolving Emma's worries.  
„Oh, such a tragic life you have led! No wonder you wanted to end it, although I will not allow it, as every life is worth living, and God doesn't want us to waste any of the time given to us. It is not my duty to judge you, although from what I hear, you have a terrible taste in men. That is why I have been courted by seven, before I found one worth my attention. But I also have been foolish, and naiive, and now, well, if I don't soon become Adéle Stanier, our child shall be a bastard.”  
She thoughtfully put her hand on her bosom. It was not as shocking as she would expect, finding out this perfect woman's secret.  
„And why are you staying here, in France?” Emma asked.  
„I am of french origin! You see, my caretaker's lover birthed and abandoned me, and I went to England with him. He married my governess, and since the time I went to school, they were as close to me as parents.”   
„Have you come to find your mother?”  
„From what I know, she might be dead by now. No, I just wanted to visit the places I remember from the time I was little, and me and Francis are looking for beautiful sites for our honeymoon.”  
Emma envied Adéle, envied her with burning passion. She had everything, everything that Emma didn't: a tragic and romantic origin, intriguing and rich family, full education, many lovers, luxuries, a prospect of a happy marriage and family...   
And despite that, she found it hard to hate the woman. Maybe it was the way she spoke to her- nonjudgmental and caring. Maybe it was the fact that she took her in without second thought, and didn't force her to meet Charles, or reveal anything she didn't want to. Maybe it was just the calmness and patience that she exhibited, despite her seemingly romantic nature.   
Emma never had real friends, not since the time she left the convent. She might have considered her lovers friends, but now she wondered if it was true, or just an image conjured by her mind to hide what was really behind it. But she thought, right now, she could start to considerAdéle as a real friend.  
She smiled.   
„Well, that is lovely. I wish you all the best. As to your child.”  
Adéle smiled a lovely smile, and seemed to consider something for a moment.   
„ So you say this Monsieur Lheuraux, he wants eight thousand francs?”  
„Yes, and there is no way for me to get them... I went around, begged, bargained, even offered myself... But no-one was willing to help.”  
„Eight thousand francs... That would be about three hundred pounds?”  
A realization hit Emma. She figured out where Adéle was going. A part of her screamed to take the offer, but something in this conversation made her want to be more honourable, and, how ironically, noble.  
„I don't know, but I cannot take anything more from you! You already took care of me, and paid for the doctor... You have been so good to me, I cannot repay your kindness!”  
In a strange way, this made Emma feel both good and awful, elated and filthy. She felt like a character from one of her favourite books, but she also realized the consequences of declining the offer, and felt it almost a lie.   
„But for me, it's no trouble at all! Francis is a lawyer, and a good one, and I'm sure it would be no problem to convince the court even to lower the fine! But if you insist, I have a different idea... Do you still have some of the goods that you obtained?”  
„Some of them I gifted, some I still have, but they are not nearly enough!” Emma wrung her hands, and her face contorted in pain.  
„Well, I could buy them from you for a price I deem worthy. And if that is not enough... You said you like literature, books, poetry?”  
Emma smiled bitterly.  
„They have led me to believe life was so easy...”  
„That is not the point, my friend. I have noticed that you speak quite a poetic language, even for a french woman. Have you ever tried writing poetry yourself?”  
Adéle's excited question made her backtrack in her mind to a more innocent time. She blushed slightly, and shifted to get more comfortable in the bed. Her rib still hurt immensely.  
„I have, but it has been so long ago... Those were just childish imaginations. I have no full education, too, they wouldn't be so good.”  
„Oh, I'm sure you would do just fine. In poetry, what's most important are the feelings, and expressing them, and you seem to have an abundance. In fact, I believe in your capabilities so much, that I am willing to pay you upfront for the tome you will write for me. As for your education, well, I am sure my caretaker Jane would love to correspond with you- she knows excellent French- and teach you about literature, among other things. Now that her own children have grown up, I feel she tends to miss teaching someone.”  
Adéle was almost beaming. First of Emma's thoughts was „That will be so much responsibility and work”. But she abolished it as fast as she could muster, smiling bravely. Tears swelled in her eyes, threatening to escape.  
„I will only be incuring a higher debt to you. I could not pay it in ten thousand lifetimes!”  
„Then pay me with twenty thousand words! Oh, and don't make the same mistakes again. Life for women is hard everywhere, but don't make it even harder for yourself. And for your sake, give the power of attorney back to your husband. I am lucky, as I have money to buy things I wish for with- but I still try to abstain from excessive purchases. Jane taught me to be modest, and well, I try as I might. And you should stay away from people like Lheureux- to be frank, I would love to spit him in the face.”  
Her eyes were lit with an idea.   
„Actually, I could do it right now! I'll get Frank, and though I know you shouldn't be moving around yet, we could go, and you can even make it in twenty four hours! And I don't think monsieur Happy will be so happy when I break to him the news, and also spit in his face, because a woman who is about to enter the confines of marriage, must have some pleasures in life, no?”   
Adéle winked.  
„But... Why? Why are you so kind to me, when I have done nothing for you, and nothing to prove my worthiness?” Emma asked, baffled.  
„Mister Rochester took me in, though he didn't have to. Miss Jane was kind and patient with me, though I was at times a spoiled brat. When she ran away, her cousins took her in, although they didn't know they were her family. People are sometimes kind with no better reason than that it is in our God-given nature, and that we want to ease others' suffering. And if someone ever needs your help or kindness, be it your family, your servant, or a stranger, think about this, and think of me. If you want me to repay your debt, do just that, and I shall be entirely content. And if I come here for my honeymoon, show me all the most beautiful places, will you?”  
Adéle Varens' smile was one that could melt every iceberg in the world.  
Emma Bovary's world, in turn, was turning faster than usual. It was hard for her to believe that only yesterday her best plan was to swallow Homais' arsenic, and abandon this life. Today, she was hopeful, and although she still had a lot to deal with, a lot to endure, she felt like she could move the mountains that stood before her, with just a bit of help.

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> If you have read this to the end, thank you, dear reader. I would much appreciate any and all criticism, for this is my first ever published work of my own. 
> 
> So. Why did I even write this, you ask?
> 
> I hate Gustave Flaubert's writing, his style, his story, his characters, and his philosophy. "Madame Bovary" was not the book I wanted to read, but since I did, I might as well try to improve it. And what better way to do it, than with a good old-fashioned crossover with a work that I actually like, and that happens in basically the same time period? I moved Jane Eyre's action ten years into the future, so that Adéle is the same age as Emma. Excuse any historical inaccuracies, because while I did research, it was mostly into legal and financial stuff- unfortunately at that time, it was illegal to divorce both in France and in England, so I couldn't impliment the element I wanted to- Emma doing something actually meaningful with her life and moving on. This is the best I could do for her- regaining her dignity, and gaining a financial independence of sorts. 
> 
> Might be available in Polish someday.


End file.
